


Mother's Boy

by SharpestScalpel



Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek (AOS)
Genre: F/M, Humor, M/M, MILFs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestScalpel/pseuds/SharpestScalpel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They really should have worked out a sock on the door code. And maybe Jim should have actually told Bones his mother's name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother's Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed like a motherfucker (*snerk*) but it kind of ate my face this morning. Typos and the like are totes my own fault and I apologize!

Jim Kirk caught his breath as the dorm room door closed with silent motion behind him and considered that maybe Bones had been right about them needing some sort of proverbial sock on the door knob (proverbial because they didn’t _have_ door knobs – why did they even call it that anymore?) signal. Because Bones was _entertaining_. And by entertaining, Jim meant driving deep into a woman who was apparently really appreciative of it, if the long toned legs wrapped around his back were any sign. Long blonde hair hung over the side of the mattress, almost sweeping the floor (how the hell did they wind up sideways like that?) with the rhythm of Bones’s thrusts.

He was frozen (well, most of him, his blood wasn’t frozen, it was boiling and all rushing south), mouth hanging open, and, shit shit shit, Bones and his lady friend didn’t seem to realize they were performing for an audience because Bones hooked an arm under one of those thighs and urged the leg higher until the (lucky) woman’s knee was bent over his shoulder. His pace changed, slowed, and Jim focused on the way the muscles in Bones’s very fine ass clenched and flexed as the man ground down with a swivel to his hips.

It wasn’t healthy, the extent to which he lusted after his best friend. Jim wasn’t _pining_ or anything like that but how could he not have a crush bigger than Pike’s ego on the doctor? Bones was brilliant and funny in a really grouchy way and, oh, damn, he filled out those ugly cadet reds. Even his dorky haircut was endearing. The dorky haircut that looked kind of amazing standing up all on end like that, where his date must have been mussing it up.

The change in pace must have been the right idea because the woman let out a guttural moan and then gasped Bones’s name (man, “Leonard” sounded a lot sexier in bed than it did over coffee – Jim would have to keep that in mind) as she enjoyed what, from the sound of things, was a fairly intense orgasm – and then the arousal that had rooted Jim to the spot turned into a cold realization. “Oh, fuck me.” It was louder than he’d intended it to be (he hadn’t meant to say it at all, stupid mouth, saying things he hadn’t given it permission to say, especially Freudian things and why did anyone even still know who Freud was?). “MOM.”

The intense activity on the bed had shifted as soon as Bones had registered Jim’s voice (Bones wasn’t into exhibitionism, Jim knew that, couldn’t even get Bones to jerk off with him, dammit, even though he’d kind of been joking when he suggested it, joking but not _really_ joking) but it had mostly involved reaching for the blankets to provide a little coverage – until that _word_ seemed to sink in and Bones whipped around (blanket still in place, unfortunately). “What?”

Winona was less modest, she’d never been modest, so she stretched before tugging up the flap of blanket up to cover her breasts. “Jimmy? What are you doing here? Do you know Leonard?”

There were no words. He didn’t have any words and even if he did have words, he couldn’t exactly make them come out because he couldn’t breathe. Jim’s mouth opened and closed and then he flailed the hand that wasn’t still gripping the strap of his backpack. Even Bones was gaping now, eyes moving back and forth between them. The older man finally settled on Winona. “Did he just call you _mom_?” Jim could breathe now but he couldn’t get any damn oxygen, panted quicker and still felt like he was drowning in awkward.

His goddamn hippie of a mother. Winona had been all about free love and commune farms and communal living and holy shit, she was fucking his roommate. The roommate Jim had been crushing on virtually since they’d taken that shuttle ride and Bones (still McCoy then, though just barely) had made good on his warning about the whole vomiting thing. Motherfucker. Jim tried to stifle a high-pitched, hysterical giggle at that thought but it broke free anyway, the first noise he’d actually managed to make since identifying Winona. Oh, he was getting light-headed.

“Believe me, I’ve tried to get him to call me Winona, at least, since he was 8 years old. But he just refuses.” Winona’s laugh was just as musical as it ever was, a lyrical sound of amusement that Jim had loved as a child. Her laugh had been his favorite thing. Her hugs, the way she cradled him with her whole body as though she was going to protect him from the entire universe had also been his favorite thing. (The puppies on the farm they had lived on with all of her hippie friends had also been his favorite things, Jim thought, still hysterical.)

It was kind of satisfying to watch Bones’s eyes get big like that and Jim was only sorry he blacked out because it meant he missed checking out Bones’s naked body when the man scrambled out of the bed.

At least, Jim thought through a muzzy haze as he blinked himself back to consciousness, at least everyone was wearing clothes now (shame Bones was wearing clothes, well, just pants but pants were clothes, but it was probably worth it because it meant Winona was wearing clothes and Bones was no longer sticking his dick in her, in Jim’s _mother_ , oh, god, Jim was going to hyperventilate again).

“Breathe with me, Jim, come on, you asshole.” Bones’s voice was gruff, demanding, but the hands that were running over Jim, making sure he hadn’t injured himself when he said hello to the floor, were gentle and soothing. Jim had spent a lot of time watching Bones’s hands. Now they gave him something on which to focus as he tried to breathe according to the pace Bones was setting. “That’s it, Jim, in and out.”

In and out, the old in and out, the old oh my fucking god, Bones had fucked Jim’s mother. There had to be some kind of rule about that, right? It had to be against the rules for your best friend who was also your roommate who was also the guy you spent a lot of time thinking about when masturbating to have sex with your only living family member. Boundaries or some psychological shit like that.

“Leonard, maybe I should go?” Winona’s voice was soft in the background, asking from a distance. “I have dinner plans with Jimmy tonight – I’ll see him then but I think I’m just upsetting him at the moment.”

Yes, yes, she was definitely upsetting him. “Mom.” His voice was a croak. “Mom, what the fuck?” Jim finally managed to do more than blink at the ceiling (oh, he was on his bed, that was nice, Bones must have carried him there, too bad he hadn’t been awake for that) and turned his head to scan the efficient dorm room until he spotted Winona, standing in their tiny excuse for a kitchenette, dressed (thank god) and wringing her hands.

She strode to his side with her typical determined, quick pace. “Jimmy, baby. Are you okay? How’s your head?” She brushed his hair off his forehead and Jim flinched back. He really _really_ didn’t want to smell sex on his mother’s hands. Sex with _Bones_. She must have washed her hands or something, though, because she ignored the flinch and he couldn’t smell anything and her fingers on his hairline like that had always been a guaranteed way to make him feel better since he was five and he’d hit his head jumping off the roof trying to fly.

“It hurts. Mom, what the hell? What are you doing here?” Bones had backed up a step, satisfied, it seemed, that Jim hadn’t done himself any real damage but Jim could still feel the other man watching. It was too bad that he hadn’t hit his head harder, maybe. Jim could have worked with amnesia. He could also hear Bones’s voice in his head (so what if he kind of maybe carried an imaginary Bones around with him that offered up commentary on any number of stupid things Jim was considering doing?) yelling at him for being a jerk because traumatic brain injuries were serious and didn’t Jim give a shit about people who actually did have to deal with amnesia? So maybe not amnesia because Jim didn’t want to be a dick but seriously? This was his life?

“I got here early and so I was having lunch at that little café with the calico curtains, you know the one, and Leonard was eating alone and I was eating alone and we started talking and we just kind of clicked.” Winona believed in _clicking_ and she had clicked with any number of people during Jim’s lifetime. Jim hadn’t entirely escaped the attitude himself and, hell, sometimes you did just click with people and if that click happened to end up in Jim’s bed, well, who was Jim to complain about any of that except, fuckity fuck, this was his _mother_ and his _best friend_ and, okay, maybe Jim had hoped that particular click was going to happen for himself. “And I had no idea you two knew each other.” Winona actually sounded penitent.

This really was just Winona’s luck. Jim couldn’t hold on to the fledging anger he’d been considering nursing. “I told you about Bones.” Oh, shit. “I didn’t tell you his name?” Bones was just… Bones. He was a constant, an unexpected one.

The headshake confirmed it. Jim groaned and closed his eyes again. “I’m sorry, honey. What do you need from me right now?” Winona had taken all of the therapy she’d had after the Kelvin very seriously. She’d taken all the therapy Jim had gotten after the disaster that was community building on Tarsus even more seriously.

“Will you be upset if I ask you to just go? We’re still on for dinner.” Not that Jim could imagine having much of an appetite even by then but he’d try.

“Of course, Jimmy. You take some time, process this, and we’ll meet up later.” Jim kept his eyes closed while Winona leaned down to kiss him on the forehead, the way she’d done a million times as he was growing up. “And you call me if you need me before then.”

Jim nodded and covered his eyes with his forearm as he listened to her bustle around, gathering her stuff, and then exit. The door was still silent; the only confirmation of her absence was the new silence and the tentative sound of Bones edging back to the bed.

“We okay, Jim?” It was gruff, which seemed to be Bones’s only setting if there weren’t children involved. But it was also concerned (Bones cared about his answer, Bones cared, but Bones had just been screwing Jim’s _mom_ so maybe Bones caring shouldn't feel so good right about now) and a little uncertain.

He raised his arm up off of his eyes. “Did you come?” There went his mouth again. Bones’s eyebrows were raising and curving and looking like they were about to crawl right off his face. “I mean, I’m trying to decide if it’s okay for me to still jerk off thinking about you and if you didn’t then maybe you’re still fair game but if you did then maybe I can’t ever unsee what I saw, you know? And that would just be creepy.” Sometimes his mouth just kept going. Like his brain wasn’t even involved. Maybe he really had hit his head harder than he’d thought, though, because Jim had certainly never consciously intended to tell Bones _that_.

It was Bones’s turn to stand slack jawed. He did a pretty good fish out of water impersonation, it turned out. But he had a better recovery time than Jim (and Jim wasn’t going to wonder, was purposely going to ignore any curiosity he might feel about Bones’s recovery time, thank you very much, brain). And, dammit, Bones was going red in the face now. Not, like, a happy red either. Not the flush of alcohol or physical exertion but the red of temper and yelling and Jim feeling ashamed of himself. Dammit.

Maybe he could cut it off. Jim shoved himself up on his elbows and let his mouth run away with itself. “No, really, I’m fine, it’s just my mom, it’s the way she’s always been, I mean, it isn’t like she isn’t hot. Not that I have, like, Oedipal issues or anything, my last psychologist checked for all of that after he met her.” That wasn’t helping. Bones’s face was a portrait of agonized confusion. “So, yeah, I’m fine if you’re fine. Mostly I’m worried you aren’t going to be fine. And that I’ll never be able to check out your ass again without feeling weird about it. And that you’ll hit it off really well with her and maybe one day I’ll have to call you daddy or something. Not that I’d ever call you daddy. I mean, unless you wanted me to and you were dating me instead of Winona.” Where had that even come from? Jim shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked. That hadn’t been as good of a plan as he’d thought.

And now Bones looked like he’d swallowed a frog. A live one. (Which led to all sorts of thoughts about what Bones looked like when he swallowed, if he swallowed, when giving a blow job and, hello, _inappropriate train of thought_.)

Bones blinked and then blinked again, seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. His face settled into its usual determined (and grumpypants) lines. But there was something in his eyes that Jim didn’t recognize. And Jim’s own eyes widened and Bones, with great deliberation, rubbed the palm of one big hand over the bulge at his crotch. “I did not, Jim.” It sounded like a proclamation and it felt like one, Jim thought, with the way Bones was just waiting for Jim to react.

Oh. _Oh._ Well then. “I don’t think I can fuck you on the same day you fucked my mom. Maybe we could make out or something after dinner, though?” Even that might be weird. But, looking at Bones’s mouth, it might be a sacrifice Jim was willing to make (puffy lower lip that was slightly swollen and as long as Jim didn’t think about how it had been his own _mother_ that must have been biting on it that was kind of hot).

Bones huffed out a laugh and then looked surprised at himself. “Uh, yeah, kid. Yeah, that might be just fine.”

Jim fell back against the bed with another groan. “Seriously, Bones? I didn’t know you dug older women.” It was going to be okay.

The laugh was louder this time, less of a surprise to them both. “You’re such an asshole.” The expected response. And it came with all of the fondness Jim had been surprised to find under the doctor’s deliberately crusty exterior.

“No, seriously, if I’d known you were into milfs…” Jim caught the PADD that Bones threw at his head, the older man grumbling and beginning the work of stripping his bed (oh, yeah, because Jim was hoping to get maybe just a little lucky later on, maybe much later on but still, clean sheets were a good clean start). “Hey, head injury here! You could have injured me!”

Oh, yeah, it was going to be _just fine._


End file.
